


Destiel Porn

by ArchOfImagine, hufflecas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 10x05 coda, Bottom Castiel, Gratuitous Smut, M/M, PWP, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 10:17:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2648369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchOfImagine/pseuds/ArchOfImagine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hufflecas/pseuds/hufflecas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the musical Sam decides to invest in some Destiel fan merchandise. Dean approves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Destiel Porn

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty much what it says on the tin. Enjoy!

They were in the bunker for a week before the package arrived. Dean wasn’t quite sure how Sam managed to get UPS to deliver to a _top secret bunker_ , but an inconspicuous brown box showed up at the door anyways. Sam grabbed it with a look of glee on his face and hurried off to his bedroom. Dean was curious, of course, until he realized that Sam might have figured out how to buy sex products on the internet and have them delivered. And _that_ was not a package he wanted to know about.

After another week, the package’s contents seemed like a distant memory. Castiel had arrived back after some random adventure with that damn female angel that hated Dean, and they settled into their normal routine.

“Dean, Sam has some new information on your last hunt that he wishes to show you.”

He glanced over his shoulder briefly, acknowledging Castiel’s presence at the edge of the kitchen, before going back to cooking. “Tell him I’ll come look after lunch.” There was no movement behind him, meaning that Cas was still there. “Did you want something to eat, Cas?”

“No. No, I’m fine.” There was a short pause, followed by Castiel asking, “Do you like my shirt, Dean?”

Dean stopped, knife hovering over a slice of bread. _That_ was not something he expected the angel to say. Setting his knife down, he slowly turned around to fully look at Castiel’s appearance. Instead of his normal suit and trench coat, Cas was wearing the suit pants and a black t-shirt. On the front of the t-shirt was an obnoxiously large red heart… with the word ‘Destiel’ written across the middle.

_Damn it, Sam._

“That’s not funny.” He flicked his eyes up to Castiel and motioned to the shirt. “He thinks he’s being funny.” He picked the knife up again but made no progress with his task.

“I’m sorry, Dean. It was not my intention to upset you. I only thought that since you and I are—” Castiel stopped, clearly unable to find the right words. 

Dean would have supplied “fucking” to the end of that dangling sentence, but he wasn’t sure that was the right word. They had only been together once, and it had been far more intimate and desperate than Dean cared to admit out loud. Whatever it was that seemed to be happening between them was new (seeing that musical had brought a lot of things to the surface) and Dean didn’t know how to describe it. What he and Cas were doing—it excited him, felt so very _right_ , and also scared the hell out of him.

Dean still said nothing, but laid the knife down again on the surface of the counter.

The angel’s smile dropped. “I’ll change, if you want me to. I… apologise, Dean. I—”

But Castiel’s words were cut off by six feet of irritated, turned on hunter suddenly all over him. Dean backed him up against the edge of the wooden kitchen table, and pushed him up onto it, kissing and sucking and biting at his neck. It was all Castiel could do to try and keep up. His hands matched pace with Dean’s as best they could, roaming and grabbing. He shoved up the back of Dean’s layered shirts and dug his fingernails into Dean’s back just enough for him to feel it. 

Dean ground his hips forward into Cas’ and felt the angel’s cock harden against his own under his slacks. Although not enough, the sensation felt _good_ , and he groaned into Cas’ mouth, their lips having found each other. Dean moved his hands to Castiel’s belt buckle, undoing it furiously and wasting no time in pulling his pants down over his hard cock. Dean didn’t bother to help Castiel with his shoes and pulled Cas’ pants and underwear right over them, letting the garments pool on the floor behind them.

Cas’ cock was beautiful, hard and leaking precome and demanding attention. Dean had never felt safe to admire another man before, but something about Castiel had broken that dam. It was _okay_ now. He wrapped another hand around Cas’ cock, his other catching the back of his head as Dean leaned in for another kiss, tongue licking around Castiel’s. Cas bucked his hips into Dean’s touch and leaned back. He attempted to pull his t-shirt over his head, but Dean stopped him. 

“No, leave it on,” Dean growled, something devilish and teasing in his voice.

Castiel dropped his hands from what remained of his clothes and instead placed them on Dean’s arms, bracing himself. Dean passed his hand over Castiel’s cock once, then let his hand trail down to play over his balls, and pass lightly over his hole. Cas’ whole body shuddered at the contact and Dean’s cock throbbed with want.

Somehow Dean needed Cas even more desperately now than he had last time—whether he was making up for lost time, or just taking advantage of what little time they may still have, he didn’t know. What he did know was that he certainly wasn’t interested in having to stop and relocate their activities to somewhere more convenient and private. Somewhere say, with lube.

Never let it be said that Dean Winchester didn’t know how to improvise.

He leaned over Cas, who took the opportunity of the new angle to nip at Dean’s neck. Dean reached behind Castiel, knowing full well that Cas couldn’t see what he was doing. Prize in hand, Dean unscrewed the lid of the olive oil and poured enough to fill the palm of his hand. It was thinner than most lube, and threatened to spill everywhere if he didn’t move quickly enough. Placing the bottle a safe distance away on the table, he gathered enough oil on his fingers and brought his hand back to Cas’ ass. 

Castiel looked at him, those blue eyes dark and heavy with want, and there was no doubt, no question. Just trust. The realization went straight to Dean’s gut but he pushed it away.

Cas hissed slightly when the cold oil touched his skin but it warmed quickly. Dean pressed one finger against the rim of muscle, spreading enough of the makeshift lube around and also warming it up. As he pressed that first finger in he kissed Cas again, and Castiel kissed up greedily, catching Dean’s bottom lip between his teeth.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean said, pushing his finger in deeper, curving the tip to brush over his prostate.

“Dean!” Cas’ back and hips arched into Dean’s hand but it only served to drive Dean’s finger in deeper. He added another, and began scissoring them. He knew he was being a little rough but he also knew Castiel could handle it, and would say something if he couldn’t.

“Damn it Cas,” Dean grunted, “I need you so fucking bad.”

“Then fuck me, Dean.”

“Yeah? Can you take me now?”

Dean was already unbuckling his jeans with his clean hand—he knew how badly olive oil could stain—when Castiel nodded his answer. Dean took his cock out and stroked it once. It felt like he’d been rock hard for ages and even one dry touch of his own hand was almost enough to make his eyes roll back in his head. He carefully withdrew his fingers out of Cas’ ass and wiped his slick hand over himself. Cas leaned back further on the table but kept himself propped up on his elbows, legs hooked over Dean’s shoulders. Grabbing both his hips Dean pulled Cas closer to him, just on the edge of the table. He lined up his cockhead against Cas’ entrance, and pushed in.

Castiel gasped at the breach, his body tense. Dean didn’t mean to bottom out in one motion, but he did. Cas just took him in, hot and tight and _his_. He sat there, inside Castiel, wanting to give Cas’ body time to adjust. Instead, the angel shot him an almost scathing look.

“ _Move_ , Dean.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. 

Dean set a pace and kept it, pulling out and slamming back into Castiel. He looked at the writhing angel beneath him, face red, eyes squinted in concentration, keening and gasping with every thrust. He was still wearing his damn shirt. The word _Destiel_ stared up at Dean, almost accusing. He could perhaps see where the girls had gotten it from, but he felt it fell short. There was no way a cutesy portmanteau of their names could encompass the literal Hell they had been through with and for each other. 

Accurate though it may have been, Dean would have been loathe to describe their first time together as _making love_. This, though, this was _fucking_.

Cas’ ass kept scooting back across the table with each thrust so Dean grabbed and dragged him forward once more. His ass almost flush against Dean’s body, Dean could tell he was now hitting Cas’ prostate with every movement by the way Castiel cried out, his body shuddering. He took his own cock in his hand, and began fucking his fist as earnestly as Dean was fucking into him. 

Seeing Cas lose himself underneath Dean was almost too much to bear and when he came, body shaking and stuttering, Dean let himself fall over the edge as well. He tilted his head back and breathed, moaning, through his orgasm as he emptied himself into Cas. 

Castiel fell back against the table with a thud, and Dean was impressed that it had held up at all. He smoothed his hands over Cas’ sweat-coated thighs, and looked around for a dish towel he could sacrifice to clean themselves up with. When he could fully focus again , he noticed that Cas had spilled quite a bit of his own come on his t-shirt.

“I hate to break it to you, Cas,” Dean began, “but I don’t think you’re going to be able to wear this shirt again.”

Castiel sat up, and his face made a small frown when he saw what Dean was talking about. “It is of no consequence, I can deal with this.”

“What? There’s no way I’m letting you use what little borrowed angel mojo you’ve got to clean _come stains_ out of a freaking t-shirt.”

“That would be most unnecessary,” Castiel replied, “as Sam ordered an entire box of them. I think he has some in your size as well.”

Dean sighed, and resigned himself to the fact that this was a battle he was not going to win.

He found that he didn’t mind.


End file.
